


happiness is...

by ficfucker



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: First Time, Frottage, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24477019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: lone informs charon what one of his catchphrases actually means
Relationships: Charon (Fallout)/Lone Wanderer, Charon (Fallout)/Male Lone Wanderer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	happiness is...

**Author's Note:**

> got carried away with this... was planning maybe 2k words but just kept writing feelings + thoughts for charon so pardon the rambling :<
> 
> first fallout fic so pls be gentle

Lone watched Charon grease his gun with a dirty rag. Lone liked to watch Charon do most things, even the mundane. The ghoul took such great care in carrying out any task, including speech. He spoke his words slowly and with obvious meaning to the ones he picked. Charon repaired, cleaned, and tested his shotgun as often as allowed, disassembling and inspecting it whenever there was time to do so.

Charon felt Lone's ponderous gaze and looked up and across the table. "What?" he asked gruffly.

Lone blinked. "Take good care of your gun is all," he answered.

Charon returned to his weapon. "A firearm is a precise piece of machinery. It must be treated with respect like any other tool."

"How many sledgehammers have you seen me completely bust up?"

"More than I'd like to keep count of."

Lone giggled and got up and went to the fridge. He returned with an ant nectar pudding and spooned a good portion of it onto a plate. The plate was pushed across the table toward Charon, who gave a small nod to indicate his appreciation.

"It's admirable," Lone piped up.

"It's only the basics."

Lone shoveled pudding into his mouth then swallowed and licked his lips. "Don't be so humble."

"If you want me to be less humble, I shall be less humble," Charon replied. His voice was the same flat rasp it always was, but the corners of his mouth loosened into a small, teasing smile.

"No way," Lone laughed. "You're already a show off."

Charon remained quiet, pleased with himself. He reassembled his gun with impressive speed, a tender accuracy that kept metal from scraping metal too roughly. He stood it on the butt, examined his handiwork, and satisfied, slung it into the holster that was strapped over his back.

"I bet people would pay caps to watch you do that."

Charon picked up his spoon. "Watch me care for my gun."

"Yeah. It's satisfying."

"You're weird, even for a smoothskin. Even for a vault dweller."

"Hey, I'm right! Gun maintenance and know-how, it's enjoyable to watch."

Charon ate his pudding quietly, then said, "As I've told you before, I find happiness in a warm gun."

Lone made a contemplative face and cast his eyes away.

"What?"

Lone looked back up and shook his head, smiling bashfully. "I didn't say anything."

Charon narrowed his eyes. "You reacted with… discomfort."

Lone snorted and got up, taking his empty bowl to the sink to be washed later. "You're too observant for your own good," he muttered.

Charon didn't advance the conversation further, rather just sat at the table and finished his pudding slowly, savoring the sweet tang of it. He wasn't sure what he did to trigger such a reaction from his employer. Curiosity burned through him. Asking prying questions wasn't in his contract, though, and Lone did not open a door for them to discuss the matter.

He'd have to find a way to discover what it was that Lone was adverse to in order to avoid it in the future.

Charon made a point to clean and inspect his gun when Lone was present from there out.

He and Lone were sitting around a small campfire in the Wastes when the opportunity arose again. There were no enemies in close proximity to worry about and Lone was in good health. Charon was safe to let his guard down long enough to repair his weapon.

Charon unholstered his shotgun and not tilting his head up, he looked to Lone through the dull orange tongues of the fire between them. He was fiddling with his PipBoy.

"Do you have any guns in need of maintenance?" he offered.

Lone shook his head and smiled over at his partner. "Got my magnum tuned up when I saw Moira the other day."

Charon grumbled his understanding and went to work silently.

It didn't take long for him to feel Lone's gaze flickering over him. "Vaultie," he said lowly.

"Yeah?"

"What is it that bothered you last time I did this?"

Lone went silent and his lips pursed with thought. He laughed, a nervous titter to it. "You remember what you said about it?"

Charon paused. "That I find it unlikely anyone would pay caps to watch me do this."

"No, the other part."

"That I find happiness in a warm gun."

Lone nodded, smiled in a very dopey fashion. "I just… maybe you don't really know what that saying means."

Charon looked up from his task and furrowed his nonexistent brow. "Enlighten me then."

Lone chuckled and set his elbows on his thighs, holding his chin up with his hands. "It's… a metaphor," he said slowly.

"For?"

Lone smiled sheepishly. "For. Well. For sex."

Charon's hands faltered over his gun and he dropped his head down to keep from hurting his weapon, or himself. "How does a vault dweller like you know that for a fact?"

"It's from a pre-war song."

Charon wrinkled his face up. "Again I ask… how does a vault dweller like you know that for a fact?"

"There was this gang, I guess you'd call them, in my vault. They liked vintage stuff a lot and music was included. We didn't have a lot of options for music, but jukeboxes and radios existed down there and that song was one of the few. Happiness is a Warm Gun, by the Beatles."

Charon strained himself trying to recall such a band from before his ghoulification. A lot of memories had burned to ash, indecipherable smudges that felt more like a collection of dreams instead of real life events. The Beatles weren't ringing a bell.

"If you say it's true, I believe your word."

Lone smiled sincerely, seeming less embarrassed about the whole thing, and opened the pack that sat upright by his feet. He took out a box of Sugar Bombs, tore the cardboard lid with his teeth, and shook the container towards Charon to see if he wanted any.

Charon shook his head. "Can't stand all that sweet." He typically opted for high protein foods like mirelurk and roach meat.

That prompted Lone to ask about Charon's eating habits, always a curious one, and Charon, not able to refuse an answer, started in on it. Things about how the fragile tissues of his mouth were sensitive to sugar, how it could burn going down due to his cells already upsetted by radiation.

In the back of his mind while he explained, Charon thought about what Lone had told him. He wondered foolishly if there were other terms and phrases he'd been saying for the past two centuries that had a double meaning. Innuendos he thought were innocent.

Prior to being under the service of the Lone Wanderer, Charon spent many years in the Underworld. He overheard conversations at the bar where he sat, waiting to be needed, silent and cross-armed. Ghouls weren't as up to date with lingo and slang, that of past and present, as smoothskins and those in the Wastes. Isolation kept ghouls out of touch. It formed a different culture, being hidden away from the world, a parallel to Vaultie and his sheltered upbringing.

And even still, the kid was exposed to enough that he knew where the phrase had come from. Some song that barely existed now.

Lone was satisfied with Charon's answers on why the ghoul avoided Nuka-Cola, and stretched himself out on the dirty mattress a few feet away. What had once been a raider camp was their squat for the night, a spot for Lone to rest until sunrise. Then they were headed back to Megaton to trade scrap for caps.

"Thank you," Lone mumbled, getting settled in. "For telling me about yourself."

Charon grunted. What a strange thing to be thankful for…

There was a window for Charon to return the sentiment. Thank you for telling me what that phrase means…

By the time Charon decided he'd like to voice the thought, Lone was curled up under his single ratty blanket, sleeping with his pistol tucked between the mattress and ground, within easy reach. Charon watched him for a moment.

He was a good kid and thinking such a thing was still a bittersweet taste for Charon. He was unsure if he'd ever felt kindly towards an owner. No particular examples came to mind, though large chunks of memory were hazy at best. If there were any previous employers in Charon's good graces, he couldn't recall.

And he was certain that they weren't quite as good as Lone.

* * *

Charon didn't sleep.

Alright.

In truth, he dozed on occasion, head dipped down to his chest if he felt truly secure, but it was never a deep, resting slumber. Ghouls needed sleep, but Charon was programmed to be nearly indistinguishable from machine.

That night, he allowed himself a moment of shut eye, but was still up before Lone. He walked the perimeter of the crudely designed camp, ensured no threats were present, and returned to Lone's side. He squatted and gave him a few measured shoves to wake him.

"The seven hours sleep you requested are up," he said when Lone blinked.

Vaultie yawned and nodded. He knuckled at his eyes then stood to put on his armor, muttering a sleepy thank you for Charon waking him on time.

Charon packed up the few things he'd taken out during the night: a single bottle of whiskey that he had changed his mind about and not drunk. A pack of cigarettes he'd smoked two of. His hunting knife laid out, still in its tough leather sheath, which was clipped back onto his belt.

They had a ways to go before they reached Megaton, not so long that they'd need to wait another night, but not a distance to laugh at. That meant Charon was going to be on high alert for several hours. It was a bizarre notion, but for the first time, perhaps the first time in his life, Charon did not mind being on duty with his employer. It felt less like he was an assigned bodyguard and more like a companion, drawing his gun to protect from a place of natural loyalty and not a slave's obligation.

Lone whistled while they walked. Charon kept a sharp gaze on all sides. It was the same as any other trek, save for the fact that Charon found that the more time spent with this kid, the more thoughts Charon had in his head.

For so long, Charon sat and felt absolutely nothing. He was a dog on a leash. Seldom did ghouls get rowdy enough for him to be needed as muscle in the Ninth Circle and even more rare was a human visiting the Underworld so the chances of an outsider causing trouble was virtually nonexistent. For his own sake, Charon left feeling and thought behind, to keep himself restrained, to keep himself sharp. Now he could feel himself sinking into it because of a Vault Dweller.

"Cap for your thoughts," Lone piped up. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Charon.

Charon grumbled. "None in particular."

"You're tryna tell me you're not thinking of anything right now? Got absolutely nothing going on in that noggin of yours?"

Charon scowled. "Let me rephrase: none worth sharing."

Lone giggled like the child he was. "Oh, so you've got some ghoul gossip to spill. Well, let it out, big guy. It's not everyday I get to hear this type of thing."

A grunt. "Too nosy…" Charon located a radroach tittering out on the horizon. He swung his gun out, took aim, and the fucker practically turned to goo as the mean rip of Charon's bullet sliced through it.

Lone gave Charon an approving smile then said, "Not getting off the hook with that sharpshooting. What's eatin' ya?"

Charon huffed. He strung his shotgun back over his shoulder. "You say a lot of things I don't understand," he started slowly.

Vaultie opened his mouth to respond. Charon raised a hand in the universal sign of "Stop, let me finish".

"Ghouls and smoothskins don't have the same… vernacular. We've been outcasted." Charon hesitated, a strange unease building in him from talking at length. He scanned the rocks ahead of them, confirmed there was no danger, and proceeded, "The Underworld is not the same as here. As Megaton or Rivet City. Ghouls have less access to… pre-war knowledge."

Lone cocked his head and watched Charon while he walked. His eyes were curious.

"You pointed out the innuendo in that phrase of mine."

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

"You didn't…" Charon stopped himself. He was unsure if he could feel embarrassment, if there was any puddle of shame for him to drink from anymore. Charon exhaled. "It just made me realize that there is a chance I'm not using a lot of terms in the way I might think I am."

Lone giggled and Charon shot him an unamused look, but Lone's childish grin didn't waver. "Accidental perverts are the worst kind," he snickered.

Charon quieted.

"I wouldn't worry too much, big guy, you're not much of a talker anyway. And besides that, you really only talk with me. I won't tease ya for it."

Charon rolled his eyes.

"Well. I might tease you a little…"

Charon grumbled, a vague way to brush Lone off, then spotted two molerats on a hill to their upcoming left. He put his arm out and advanced, gun drawn. Molerats were hardly a threat. It was a uniform act. Charon knelt and skinned them for their meat when Lone asked him to.

Charon wiped the blood off his knife by running the blade across his thigh, smearing blood into his chaps. The dark leather of them masked dried blood well, but when they got to Megaton, Charon would likely hang them in the sun and beat them out. After, he'd wash them by hand and apply Brahmin fat to keep the leather soft.

He was thinking of this when Lone piped up with, "You know, it's okay if you—I'm not offended by dirty jokes."

Charon glanced up at Lone to find his cheeks had gone rosy. He laughed dryly, sheathed his knife, and got to his feet to continue their journey.

Lone took step behind him. Charon could feel his employer's flustered energy without even turning to look at him. Wafted off him like potent rad. His voice was higher when he said, "I mean, we're both men."

Charon wondered what that was supposed to mean. He was no stranger to the bizarre behaviors abstractly assigned by sex, a notion of the old world that still clung to the now, evident by vague stereotypes he could recall of men and women. Charon had seen it: female ghouls giggling into their palms at the bar when men offered to buy them a drink. Male ghouls acting foul and brutish, pretending to be smarter or stronger than they really were.

Charon could be considered an example of masculinity, from his physical stature to his stoic, serious manner, an attitude typically associated, for whatever reason, with men. The notion meant little to him. He reacted no differently when dealing with people based on their perceived gender.

A bullet couldn't discern sex, anyhow.

Lone, obviously bothered by the silence, fiddled with the straps on his pack. He said, "Guys in the vault—they were pretty nasty sometimes. Toward women."

"You want me to be nasty toward women."

"No! Don't be a wise ass. I'm just—I'm not the little kid you think I am, I know about sex and everything."

 _More than me, apparently,_ Charon thought.

"So it's-it's okay. To talk about. With me. Around me."

Charon snorted. He knew what Lone was getting at now.

They'd only done a few things in the realm of intimacy and neither of them spoke of it. The brush of finger tips that lingered longer than an accidental touch. Lone pressing an uncertain, unsteady kiss to the corner of Charon's mouth after Charon had lead the way in killing a group of Super Mutants. Charon guiding Lone back to their now shared house in Megaton after the kid had gotten wobbly and fawn-legged from too much whiskey.

In a textbook definition, none of those acts could be considered sexual, though it wasn't the standard behavior of people who were just friends. Definitely not standard for a slave and his contract holder. A ghoul and a human.

Charon wanted, but he could turn those desires off like pulling a lever. He was trained to be sexless. He could watch. He couldn't touch. He did it every day for years, however long, at The Ninth Circle, though the primal urges seemed to simmer down to nothing on their own at some point. The same war-eaten faces in the same cycles of drink, pay, and leave lost whatever trivial charm they had eventually.

It turned over to disgust. To contempt. Charon daydreamed more about all the different ways he could kill his employer than he did imagining the enjoyment of pinning a ghoul to a mattress. The imaginary cock and fire of his gun followed by the gurgle of blood seemed more pleasurable than the idea of slotting himself against a warm body.

With Lone, the desire was alien and new. A thing so fresh and foreign, it was like seeing shiny metal after only knowing rust. Charon burned up for the kid. He could deny himself easily, but he could also detect the change. There was a passion to the fire stoked inside him.

"If that is a command, I will be less reserved with private matters," Charon answered.

Lone sputtered. "No, it's not a command! I'm just… letting you know."

"Alright."

They walked in silence for a long time.

* * *

Lone sold his scrap and unwanted weapons to Moira while Charon stood silently by the door. They visited Walter to pawn off useless metal. It was nearing sunset. Lone said they did good on their haul and could indulge at Gob's.

"And I've got letters for him from Carol, too," he added as though he was trying to justify himself.

It wasn't like Charon could argue if he wanted to.

They sat at the bar. Most times, Charon would stand off to the side, monitoring in silence, but Lone had patted the spot beside him and said, "Sit." Lone's voice was light, but it was a command nonetheless.

"More letters from Carol," Lone announced cheerfully. He laid the stack of crumpled paper bound by dirty, once-white twine on the bar.

Gob lit up like the blinding flare of a mushroom cloud. "She's a peach, I'll tell ya…," he murmured, carding through the notes with soft, starry eyes. "Booze is on me tonight, drunkie. Ain't fair to make you my errand boy for free."

Lone started up to argue but Gob insisted and the kid caved, politely accepting the scotch that was being pushed toward him.

"You too, Charon," Gob said. He poured a glass for the ghoul. "Keep the vaultie safe, you're just as much to thank here."

"Mm. Thank you," he gruffed.

Gob excitedly went about reading his letters and it left Lone and Charon in a comfortable quiet. There was something radiating off Lone still, though not poison, nothing close. Charon could feel the geared up energy pulsating from the boy beside him, as if they were deep, palpable vibrations.

Charon finished his drink and set the glass down in the bar. He kept his hands cupped around it.

There was very little left to his nose in the sense of flesh and cartilage, just a cavernous hole resembling an exit wound. His smell, however, was heightened to an unnatural degree compared to that of humans. Maybe it had to do with the fact that his "nostrils" were as wide as possible, he didn't need to flare them open to sniff.

Over the toxic tang of alcohol, the ashy drape of smoldering cigarettes, Charon could smell Lone there beside him. And not just the sugary sweet that seemed to cling to the vault dweller, but the salt of his skin.

It smelled… damper.

"Thousand yard stare, big guy," Nova noted as she slid in beside him.

Charon sat up straighter and grunted.

"Gob, a beer, please." Nova looked the ghoul up and down. "Enjoying Megaton so far?"

"Yes," he answered gruffly.

Gob placed a cold beer in front of Nova and sidestepped to put the payment into his register. "Didn't think you had it in you to enjoy things anymore, Charon," he ribbed.

Lone, who had been fiddling with his Pip-Boy, glanced up and laughed softly. "He likes to act cooler than he is."

Gob smirked and Nova chuckled, tipping her bottle to her lips.

Charon tapped his glass to signal he wanted another round and produced the proper payment. Lone had yet to finish his own drink. His fingers twitched over the buttons strapped to his wrist.

While Gob poured his serving, Charon ducked his head close to Lone and grumbled, "Do you feel threatened?"

Lone tilted his head with slight confusion and answered, "No? Why?"

"You have been quiet. I wanted to ensure no one here is bothering you."

"Oh…" Lone flushed pink and smiled. "No, just have things on my mind, I guess."

The conversation had grown slightly in volume and Gob, having overheard, said, "Well, that's the purpose of alcohol, ya know. Drink till you forget why you're drinking."

Lone took a swig from his glass as if to prove something, but the night crawled slowly on. Nova and Gob chatted and Lone tried to join in from time to time, but he was cagey.

Charon wondered if it had to do with sex.

* * *

"Be cautious," Charon warned as they started down the metal ramp toward home.

"I'm not that drunk," Lone protested softly. He was clinging to Charon closely, though, as if his legs might betray him at any moment.

Charon kept his arm curled around the boy's shoulders to steady him. The claim was most likely true. Lone hadn't drank much and neither had Charon. After his second scotch, Charon smoked a single cigarette while Lone nursed a plain Nuka Cola.

They made it to the house in one piece and Charon led Lone up the stairs and to his bed. He eased him down then knelt to undo his boots.

"You don't gotta…"

Charon set the boots aside once they were off, Lone's quiet complaints boiling down to steam as he yawned. They should have stayed home instead of going out. Lone was a hardened wanderer, but there was strain to their most recent trek, probably left him with aching thighs and a sore back.

Charon stood to turn and leave. Small fingers curled around his wrist and Charon reacted quickly, startled. He faced Lone in the dark, looked down at Vaultie who peered nervously up at him.

"Charon…"

"Yes."

"When I was saying that you—that it's okay to talk about sex with me…" Lone rubbed his thumb over the prominent bone of Charon's wrist. "I meant I would like if you… did. Or wanted more. Uh, more than talking about it."

"I know," Charon said truthfully.

"Oh," Lone squeaked. His grip tightened gently before his hand fell away and disappeared under his blanket. "I'm serious… And never mind the contract, that doesn't count when it comes to… comes to…."

"Relations," Charon supplied.

"Yeah. So don't feel like it's a command. If you want it then I do and I mean—"

"Not tonight," Charon interrupted. "We're both intoxicated. Your consent is compromised."

Lone shrunk down into his pillow with embarrassment and despite his precious statement, Charon wanted to lean down and kiss the look off his young face.

"Goodnight," Charon said. He said it as softly as his graveled voice allowed, a way to end this conversation without hurting any feelings.

Charon had not considered anyone's feelings (his own or others) in such a long time, the realization of his tenderness for Lone made his heart gallop in his chest.

"Goodnight, Charon," Lone murmured. His eyes were droopy with sleep and he seemed less flustered, possibly soothed by Charon's one-worded attempt to pacify him.

Charon stepped quietly out of the room and closed the door. He went downstairs and methodically disassembled his gun at the workbench pushed against the wall. He inspected each part, cleaned what needed to be cleaned. He checked on Lone's weapons too and made the proper repairs. The entire time, he thought of Lone, sweet Lone asking him to bed so innocently.

If they really were going to be intimate tomorrow, regardless of how far or in what way, Charon wanted to be prepared. He went into the bathroom with a spoon, a tin cup, and a box of Abraxo. Charon stripped down, sat nude in the bath, and made a mix of the cleaner and water in his cup. It was near the consistency of paste. He smoothed it over his gnarled skin. The rough crystals of the chemical dug into him just right, cutting through the layer of dust and blood and muck he wanted off him.

Charon rinsed down, filling his cup, turning the faucet off, and dumping the water over himself. He repeated this. He was cautious of his water usage, despite Lone's generosity. Megaton's water supply was no longer irradiated, thanks to the handiwork of the Vaultie, and there was some strange guilt in Charon about using it.

He could use contaminated water. Rads were a ghoul's best friend, so why consume what was clean?

Charon stepped out and dried off. He sniffed himself dumbly, noseblind to his own ghoulish scent, then glanced in the mirror over the sink.

He saw the same angry red skin he'd been wearing for the last two hundred or so years. His body was toned, best it could be given the fact that in some places, muscle was gouged out or just completely failing. Could no longer be molded into anything, left as shiny, tight flesh. His build, in his own cynical opinion, would never be enough to outweigh the horror of his ghoulification.

Charon felt a mix of business-like uncaring and flickering concern.

On one hand, Charon was long detached from his sexuality, had stripped down in front of others, by force or by choice, many times before with no hesitancy. He could handle nudity like a man in a locker room or a member of a tribe who felt clothes weren't needed. Modesty was a term destroyed with the rest of the world.

On the other hand, Charon was not used to being desired. He was readily hardened in the sense that he expected people, smoothskins in particular, to leer at him. To make comments. Call him a zombie or a shuffler. The prospect of being looked at with the intention of desire, genuine desire, made Charon want to reel back.

So many walls had been put up.

Lone was steadily lowering them.

* * *

Lone and Charon had breakfast together the next morning. Instamash with molerat meat stirred in. Lone was quiet.

"There is no pressure," Charon said finally. "If you've changed your mind—"

"No! No, Charon, not at all." Lone laughed nervously, stirring his spoon through the thickness of the mash in front of him. "I'm just… I'm nervous, I guess." He smiled, lopsided and small.

Charon nodded. He wanted to reassure him and was unsure how. He eventually decided to say, "I will not hurt you."

Lone giggled. He had boldened since admitting his jitters. "What if I asked you to hurt me?"

"Physical violence violates—"

"What if I asked you to hurt me because I _like_ it."

Charon blinked. "If that is what you wish, I shall provide it," he said, monotone.

Lone kicked him playfully from under the table and it was enough to tweak Charon's lips into the slightest smile.

* * *

The day rolled on sluggishly. Charon sat idle on the couch because he had not been given a task. Lone joined him by sprawling out and reading through some science and weaponry books he'd scavenged. He pursed his lips with thought every few pages. Charon watched him until Lone felt the gaze and peeked up from behind his book.

"What?"

"You make faces when you read."

Lone's cheeks warmed pink and he stuck his tongue out.

Charon calculated, surveyed the situation, then leaned forward until he was hunched over himself. He set a hand on Lone's book and lowered it. A statement rather than out of the need to. Lone's pupils were wider than they had been a second ago, darting down to Charon's thin, hatched lips.

"Can I kiss you?" Charon asked in a rumble.

Lone nodded breathlessly. "Yes," he whispered.

Charon was, to put it simply, out of practice. He tilted his head to the left and met his lips with Lone's, so unbearably soft. Lone sighed into it and Charon could feel the boy's shoulders slump with assumed relief, out of enjoyment. Charon inched back and reconnected their lips at a new angle, innocent, without tongue. His hand drew across the book until it rested gently on top of Lone's nearest arm, fingers curling around the unburned flesh.

Lone's eager movements, the steady pulse Charon could feel thundering through his wrist, were ample encouragement.

When Charon leaned away, Lone blinked and in a whisper, said, "You smell different."

"I bathed last night."

"Oh," Lone breathed. He turned his arm over so his palm was facing up and mimicked the way Charon was touching him: linked fingers. His face was ruddied with blush and his eyes moved quickly. Without another word, he dipped back in and kissed Charon, kind of easing up and off the couch.

Charon's hands skimmed up and held him by the shoulders. The hardcover book clattered to the floor before Lone could force himself fully into Charon's lap, and Charon backed politely out of the kiss. Deadpan, he said, "I think you should order Wadsworth away."

Lone cocked his head, not thinking straight. He heard the metallic whirring come closer and he looked over to see Wadsworth picking up the book and going to return it properly to a nearby shelf. "Oh. Right. Wadsworth, in the kitchen. Power down until further notice."

"Right away, sir!" the machine chirped obediently. "Inactive until you reactivate me, sir!" And with that, he floated away and the robotic noise that accompanied him settled until Charon and Lone were cast into silence.

Lone turned his attention back to the ghoul he was half straddling. He inhaled shakily, his excitement no secret. Charon dropped his hands to Vaultie's hips and lifted him enough that they could both scoot back into Charon's corner of the couch; Charon sitting up with Lone facing him in his lap.

Lone seemed to acknowledge the situation fully for the first time and wrapped himself around Charon. He hid his face in Charon's shoulder bashfully. Charon's hand swiped up and down Lone's back, felt the bumps and grooves of his spine through the material of his vault suit.

"I will not hurt you," Charon said as reassurance.

"I know I'm just…" Lone shifted. "I'm not exactly experienced."

"There's no rush." Charon kept rubbing his back, then added, "This might be better suited if we went upstairs, though."

Lone opened his mouth to agree and that was enough of a permission for Charon; he hoisted the former vault dweller into his arms. Lone yelped and clung tightly to his front. Charon took the steps two at a time.

Charon nudged the door open with his foot and lay Lone carefully down on the mattress.

Turned on by Charon's display of graceful strength, Lone wrapped his arms tightly around Charon's neck to keep him from standing up or moving away, not wanting to be separated for a second. He kissed Charon blindly, with a cresting passion that made Charon hum. Charon pressed his tongue experimentally past Lone's lip and was met with writhing enthusiasm.

"Lone…," he rasped.

Lone pressed a palm to the side of Charon's face, his eyes alert and loving. Charon leaned into the touch, allowed Lone to brace the weight of him. Lone kissed his cheek, the corner of his mouth. "Charon… I. I want you to undress me."

"Alright." Charon edged back then slung one long leg over Lone's hip, successfully straddling him. He ran his hand up Lone's stomach to his chest, up to his chin where the zipper was.

Lone set his hand over Charon's and, very softly, said, "And that… wasn't a command."

"I know." Charon gently brushed Lone's hand aside and began to untrack the zipper so the upper half of Lone's suit peeled into two.

He had a dirty white shirt on beneath. Charon laid one hand flat to Lone's clothed chest, just to feel the human warmth emanating from him. His other hand pushed the suit further off, Lone raising his hips to assist in the removal. He had on gray shorts, missing the draw strings, and tied instead with a scrap of leather belt.

Strangely, Charon caught himself thinking that he found the improvision cute.

Charon went to undo the belt and Lone stopped him. Bashfully he muttered, "You too. I want to… see you, big guy."

There was a moment of hesitation, but Charon dipped his chin in a nod and drew back to shuck off his shirt. He could feel Lone's eyes dissecting him, trailing down from shoulder to navel. It was enough to make him shiver.

Because of Lone's care, Charon was a robot de- or reprogrammed. He actually felt embarrassment, maintained a timid sense of freewill. The contract was less and less a tether each day and the tremble of arousal Charon felt in his gut at that moment was evidence.

Lone reached out and brushed the very tips of his fingers down Charon's stomach. If he were human, it might have tickled, but Charon lacked nerves in many spots, so the touch didn't make him pull away. Rather, Charon leaned into it, kind of sighed at the foreign sensation.

He knew knife wounds and itchy, flaking skin. Charon knew bullet holes and broken fingers. A friendly touch was a religious experience.

"You're… big," Lone observed.

"So you've told me."

Lone smiled warmly and gave Charon's pants a cheeky tug, raising an eyebrow that asked permission. Charon swallowed, nodded his consent. Lone curled his fingers into the top hem of the pants and edged them down, no underwear beneath since it was such a rare article to come by in the Wastes.

Charon flitted his eyes away as Lone looked at him. He was barely half hard and even for a ghoul so removed from the sexual experience, he was no virgin. He knew that his arousal, by the general standard, should happen faster.

"It," he said, "takes time…"

Lone nodded and ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. "I'm not offended."

To take attention off himself, Charon reached between Lone's legs and palmed his erection over the thin material of the shorts, made Lone gasp and shudder. He undid Lone's belt and dropped it off the side of the bed. Charon gracelessly dipped his hand into Lone's shorts and brushed his fingers against Lone's cock. It made the Vaultie jolt.

"You're wet," Charon said observationally.

Lone whimpered at that and chased the touch by raising his hips. "Didn't think you'd be one for dirty talk," he joked.

Charon tugged the shorts fully off now, caught around Lone's thighs. He cupped his palm under his own chin, spit into it, and wrapped his hand around Lone's dick. "Well. I do find happiness in a warm gun." He stroked Lone slowly, building pace. "I think this is what you'd call… a warm gun."

Lone panted, wrenched one eye shut. "Very funny…" Lone seemed a bit overwhelmed, the muscles of his stomach tightening then going slack, but he had enough sense to reciprocate. He patted blindly to find Charon, brushing his thighs. His fingers located him and he curled his soft, warm palm around Charon's cock.

Charon let out a breath. He was about as hard as he could get now, which was to say more than half mast, but not quite a full erection. Lone's experimental, jerking movements were beyond word, though. Poor ghoul circulation be damned.

Charon was seated kind of awkwardly, on top of Lone's thighs, and with all his weight, he assumed it must be uncomfortable. He nudged Lone closer to the wall then laid beside him so they faced each other. There was no pause or wait in his reaching between Lone's legs this time and Lone reacted encouragingly; arching forward so his cock brushed up against Charon's.

Lone wriggled impossibly closer, so their foreheads touched. His eyes dipped down, studied Charon's mouth. Kissing followed. Charon curled his fist around the both of them and Lone gasped against his tongue. Charon stroked them in time with Lone's jittery thrusts, biting at Lone's lower lip, pressing his tongue past his teeth.

"Charon," the Vaultie whimpered. "Charon…"

Precum puddle between them and Charon swiped it up with his thumb to retain the slick. Worried that the roughness of his burned and calloused hand could irritate Lone's delicate skin. If anything, Lone seemed to enjoy it, followed after the touch like the texture was a bonus.

Lone reached across and grazed one of Charon's nipples with his fingers. Another place where nerves weren't fully in tact, but the contact made him hiss between his teeth. "Lone," he growled. He snapped his hips forward.

A shuddering moan puffed from Loan and his hand scrabbled up to Charon's shoulder, dug his nails in. He forced his mouth against Charon's, kissing him in a frenzy. Charon's stomach dropped and tightened at that, how desperately he was wanted.

Lone's cock pulsed and leaped, rubbed against Charon's. He knew the Vaultie was close so he stroked him quicker, tightened his grip. Charon grunted, pushed himself flush against Lone, completely boxed in.

Head lolled back and away, Lone's whole body went rigid, taught as a bowstring as he came. Charon kissed his neck fiercely, dragging teeth along Lone's exposed throat. Lone shot thin ropes that dribbled down Charon's fingers, whimpering curses and praise and Charon's name brokenly.

That was all Charon needed. He came with a grunt and a particularly shameless moan, releasing Lone's spent cock to focus on his own release—and in effort to not overstimulate his partner. "Fuck," he huffed. With less power to it, his orgasm didn't reach as far, rather just drooled down his wrist in sticky trails.

"Charon?" Lone asked. He shifted over so he could see Charon.

"Mm."

"Would you say two warm guns are better than one?"

Charon couldn't fight the dumbly amused smile that broke over his face as his cock gave its final spent twitch. He leaned in and kissed Lone on the forehead. "Charming," he grumbled. But to entertain the joke, he added, "But yes. Exponentially better."

Charon got up and left the room to retrieve a rag to clean them both. When he came back, Lone was sprawled out on the mattress, his shorts having been kicked away. His arms were behind his head, soft cock resting against his thigh between the crop of pubic hair it sat in. He looked pleased, innocent. Sleepy.

The Vaultie gasped at the cool water then giggled, murmured a thank you as Charon ran that rag across his abdomen, swiped his thighs clean.

Charon pulled on his pants and got in bed beside Lone who was still naked and seemingly no longer shy about it. Lone cuddled up beside him happily. Sharp rays of sun escaped through the gaps of the walls of corrugated iron and landed over their bodies.

It was the first time Charon felt relaxed, felt comfortable for the first time in decades. Maybe centuries.

Lone kissed Charon's jaw, mumbled, "Get up in a little while. I'm too tired to move."

Softly, Charon said, "If that is what you wish," and it was of his own volition. He said it because he wanted what Lone wanted. He wanted to please Lone.

There was happiness in that.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> absolute sucker for this ghoul and might write more? not enough charon and masc lone wanderer out there...
> 
> kudos + comments deeply appreciated


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